


The Next Ten Minutes

by just_another_classic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Morning After, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9393296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: A snowstorm leads to a passionate night for Emma and Killian. What does that mean for their friendship?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is the fic where I combined my love of snowstorms, DC’s inability to handle snowstorms, musical theatre, and Thanks Obama jokes into one joyful and slightly angsty fanfic. Thanks to @csjanuaryjoy for putting it all together!

Emma awoke in a bed that was not her own, naked, and with a pounding headache serving as a reminder to the terrible – and not so terrible – decisions she made the night before. 

Blindly, she groped to the opposite side of the bed, feeling a strange combination of relief and disappointment to find it empty. She briefly wondered where had bedmate had gotten to, until she finally registered the sound of the shower. Intermingled with the noise of the shower’s stream was a man’s voice, singing aloud some mindless pop song. She noted she would have to tease him for it later.  
  
Assuming their friendship wasn’t completely fucked up, that is. 

Emma moaned, burying herself further into the blankets. She should have never agreed to crash at Killian’s place during the snowstorm. She should have stayed home in her tiny studio, alone and going stir-crazy for the next few days as she waited for the snow to melt, the plows to mow the street, or the metro to be running again.

But Killian just had to offer that she come crash with him for what they knew would be an extended weekend. _“It’s better we be snowed in together, rather than alone,”_ he had suggested to her. And Emma had stupidly agreed, because he was one of her best friends, and his condo was incredibly nice, and his liquor selection was stellar. So, she had packed up a few days worth of clothes, some snow boots, and grabbed some pizza and gone. She hadn’t meant to sleep with him. Not really.

Emma peeked up from her burrow in the blankets to the framed photograph on the nightstand. Four smiling faces stared back at her. The picture had been taken at Liam and Elsa’s wedding. It had been through Elsa that Emma had met Killian. Elsa had been Emma’s roommate at the time, and had invited Emma along to a party at her boyfriend Liam’s place. There she had met Liam’s younger brother, and they hit it off debating their favorite rums and whiskeys. 

They hadn’t gotten together then. Emma had been dating Walsh at the time – what a terrible mistake _that_ had been – and Killian had still been grieving the loss of his fiancé, Milah. So a friendship had developed. And it had been an excellent friendship. So excellent, if fact, that Emma had occasionally wondered what would happen if things became more. Of course, up until last night, she had been too afraid to pursue that line of thought. Everything good in her life always seemed to disappear – a fact that she and Killian bonded over – and she wasn’t about to lose him.

Except, now she might.

She closed her eyes, replaying the events of the night before. They had eaten pizza, drank wine, and watched some television. At some point, she had become enchanted by the snow falling outside – she was incredibly envious of his place’s floor to ceiling windows – and suggested a nighttime stroll in the snow.

_“How often do we experience a snowpocalypse, anyway?”_

_“I believe they’re calling it Snowzilla, love.”_

So they bundled up and took toward the streets. It had been strange walking along the DC streets at night, not a car, taxi, or uber ride to really be found. For all intents and purposes, the Capital had shut down. Even OPM had closed down the government, with only essential employees expected to work, and even then, telecommute if possible. _(“Thanks, Sn’Obama!” “Swan, that’s terrible.”)_

At some point during their walk, Killian had wrapped his arm around her, keeping her warm from the cold. _“I’m a gentleman, love,”_ is what he always claimed. And it felt nice being in his arms, and it reminded Emma of all the feelings she was trying to tamp down. Because he was a gentlemen. He was kind and caring, and he made her laugh. With the wine coursing through her veins, and the magic of a snowstorm surrounding them, Emma made what might be the best or worst decision of her life – she kissed him. And then he kissed her back. And then one thing led to another, and Emma ended up naked in his bed.

She heard the shower shut off, and her heart felt as if it was about to pound out of her chest. In an attempt to delay the inevitable, she feigned sleep, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She still needed more time to sort out her warring emotions, and pretend this wasn’t the beginning of the end. She couldn’t see how it could go any other way. Either he also completely regretted it, and their friendship would end right there and then, or they would try to dance around the fact that they had seen one another naked, and their friendship would end at a later date.

The door to the bedroom opened, and Killian shuffled in, his footsteps light. Emma listened as her approached the bed, praying he would find her cowardly act believable. She heard him stop, and she could feel his presence near the edge of his bed. She wondered if he was studying her, if he was looking down at her with regret. Instead, she felt him lean down and press a kiss to her head, and then retreat. He shut the bedroom door as he left.

The intimacy of the gesture almost made her cry. It was a very Killian thing to do, all soft and caring. It was also new. As friends, they didn’t kiss. She had crashed at his place a few times over the past three years that she had known him – after parties where she was too drunk and tired to metro or uber home, in the final days leading up to Liam and Elsa’s wedding as they drowned in wedding details, during movie nights that went on too late. Of course, after those nights, she’d often stayed on the couch, or in the spare bedroom that had once been Liam’s. There had been no opportunity for kisses. But he had kissed her just then, even if he hadn’t known she’d been awake.

 What did it even mean? 

Emma rolled over with sigh, huffing at she stared up into the ceiling. She didn’t like being this woman, the woman who over-analyzed everything relating to her relationship with a man. But she reminded herself that this was different, this had to do with not just a romantic relationship, but a friendship, with a person who she very, truly cherished.

And that was the problem. She cherished him – and had sex with him.

 It wasn’t the sort of thing friendships normally overcame. Emma had been around the block enough times to know that the whole “friends-with-benefits” thing usually ended poorly. Besides, she didn’t even want that with Killian. She wanted the status quo, for him to remain the person she could count on to weather through snowstorms and to tease her over her choices in pizza toppings.

Sex changesd those things. Romantic relationships change those things. Romantic relationships inevitably end – especially for her. Friendships were the only type of relationships Emma had been able to successfully sustain over the years. Elsa, Mary Margaret, David, even Regina. She’d manage to create a hodgepodge of friends that stayed. And she couldn’t bear to watch Killian leave.

And to make matters worse, she was trapped, because being the brilliant woman that she was, she decided to make a terrible – wonderful? – move in the middle of a snowstorm. There was a small part of her that wished the Capital Weather Gang had been mistaken, and that the city wasn’t going to get two feet of snow. Maybe there would be an errant uber driver out, and she could hitch a ride back to her apartment in NoMa.   
  
Trying to be as quiet as possible, she crept from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her for warmth. She wanted to curse when she peeked through the blinds to see a blanket of white. Cars were half buried, and she could barely see the Anacostia River from all the snow. 

In short, Emma was trapped.   
  
She debated about what to do next. As appealing as it was, she couldn’t stay hidden in his bedroom forever. There was also the matter of her clothing. She had dropped off her duffle bag of clothes in Liam’s old room, and there was no way she could sneak and change without alerting Killian.   
  
She hated that she was afraid to confront him, because before she had never been afraid to be around him. He had always been easy. He had been safe. And now she was afraid of hearing him agree that they had made a mistake. She didn’t want him to think it was a mistake, and that was a problem in and of itself.   
  
But Emma knew that she had to face the music at some point.   
  
Her heart heavy, she pilfered a pair of his boxers and a sweatshirt from the floor. She wasn’t about to leave his room naked, and there was something comforting about being wrapped in his smell. She tried not to dwell on that fact.  
  
Killian was leaning against the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone and drinking a mug of coffee when she exited the bedroom. He noticed her immediately, and a smile bloomed across his face when he saw her.   
  
“Swan,” he greeted.

She admired the way crinkles formed in the corner of his eyes when he smiled. She had always liked that about him. She liked that this smile was for her. She took a deep breath.   
  
“Hi.”

Emma never really did the morning after thing. With her one-night stands, she was more of a “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” kind of woman, preferring to leave after the deed was done and needs met. Even when she had dated Walsh, she hadn’t stayed over often. But, she had to admit it was nice to see Killian early in the morning. It almost made her forget that their friendship was potentially doomed.   
  
Killian eyed her carefully, and then sat down his mug. As if sensing her fears, he told her, “I don’t regret last night, just so you know.”

She was struck by his forwardness, the fact that he didn’t dance around the subject or distract her. She appreciated it, but it also terrified her.  “I’m glad.” Her voice trailed off, a fact that he picked up immediately.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there.”

“You are my best friend.” Emma realized the moment she said it that she had never told him that before. She’d always said he was her friend, but never attached a qualifier. If it surprised him, it didn’t show.

Instead, Killian followed her statement with one of his own. “And you are mine.” 

“Good,” she said. It pleased her to hear him say it. Maybe all hope wouldn’t be lost. “So you know how important our friendship is, and I don’t want us having sex to ruin it.” 

“There’s also the chance that it could make it better,” he countered, his eyebrows waggling provocatively. She had to stifle a laugh, which she knew was his intended effect. “Swan, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”  
  
“Losing our friendship sounds kind of scary.”

He studied her carefully, then crossed his arms. “I saw a play last week.” 

“Excuse me?” She was struck by the change in conversation. It was abrupt, and she bristled at how he completely side-stepped her confession. 

“It told the story of a couple, showed them falling in love and breaking up,” he explained.* Emma wasn’t sure where Killian was going with this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “There’s one scene in which the man proposes to the woman, and in doing so, he asks for just ten minutes of her time, and then another ten.”  
  
“Killian—“

 “Just give me ten minutes, love,” he asked, steeping his hands and making a move toward her. “Just ten minutes to pretend that our friendship can be something more. Can you handle that?”

 She wanted to argue, to call his suggestion silly, but Emma found herself nodding along. He flashed her that brilliant smile of his, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “So, how about I make you some coffee and breakfast, aye?”

And so he did. As he heated the bacon, Emma made her way into the guest bedroom, and changed out of Killian’s stolen clothes and into some of her own. It felt strange ending their conversation like that, but Emma was thankful there wasn’t a fight. In fact, it all felt strangely domestic, mostly because she didn’t want to fight him on it.

They had just sat down to eat when he turned to her and asked, “Was that so bad?” 

“I haven’t even tried anything,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. He mirrored her movements with a spectacular eye roll of his own. “I meant the past ten minutes.” 

“Nothing happened.”

“Exactly,” he insisted. “Ten minutes passed, and we’re still okay. I made you breakfast—“ 

“Which I haven’t eaten, because you keep interrupting me.” 

“And we’re just fine.” Killian cast her an intense stare. “So, love, how about it? Can I have another ten minutes?” 

Emma looked down mournfully at her bacon, knowing she wouldn’t be getting to it anytime soon. “Is this your master plan, convince me in ten minute increments that us being a thing will be okay?” 

“Is it working?” He quirked an eyebrow at her playfully, and reached out to take her hands in his own. “Emma, I want this, have for awhile. Last night was like a dream come true for me, and I have a feeling you didn’t hate it either. Did you?”

“No.”

“And I know you’re afraid, but I want to prove to you that we can still be us, with the added benefit of a courtship. If it takes ten minute increments, then so be it,” he explained to her. He eyed her hopefully. 

Emma wanted to tell him that they wanted the same thing, that last night had been a dream come true. She wanted to say that she wanted their friendship with an added benefit of a courtship. Instead, she said, “Can it be longer than ten minutes? Because we’re stuck here for the next day or so, and it’s going to be annoying for you to ask me every ten minutes if we’re good.”

She hoped he caught everything she was trying to say. He seemed to, because that wonderful smile was back. “Alright, Swan. A day at a time it is.”  
  
She kissed him to confirm it, finding herself suddenly thankful for freak snowstorms. 

_Thanks Sn’Obama._

**Author's Note:**

> The play referenced is The Last Five Years aka my favorite musical.


End file.
